Learning to Fly
by TigerLilly1995
Summary: The great Optimus Prime was rarely found speechless. There were few to none circumstances under which he would not have at least an educated guess about something. This was, unfortunately, one of those times. Where did the base go? What was he doing in a hole in the ground in the middle of the desert? Who was this human child, staring at him like a short-circuited Sparkling?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: hey there lovelies. So as far as I'm concerned, this is a first. I was looking through the main archive of Transformers FF, and found a story about a trans-fan who was transported into the Transformers universe. And no offence to anyone, but I couldn't help but think "another on?!" I have nothing against them, and some are really amazing, but the idea is so common and overused. So this idea popped into my head:**

**Let's flip the coin!**

**What happens when Optimus Prime gets stranded in our world, with no NEST, no comrades, no Lennox or Epps, no Mikaela and no Sam, all alone and with no idea how to get back? Follow the infamous leader as he is forced into a rather domestic lifestyle as fancy truck, driving a girl to college every day and living in a town so small that it doesn't even show up on a map. Watch a young hacker enjpy sharing her back yard with a giant from a movie that she was only introduced to a few months prior.**

**I'll only say it once: I don't own Transformers.**

I sit curled up on the couch, new laptop on my lap, fingers flying across the keyboard at a hundred a thirty words per minutes. With that word-count, I'd be a great secretary. Heck, some offices offered me work. Unfortunately – for them, that is – I refused. Yes, I needed to work on my savings, but I was waiting for a very important letter, and although working as a secretary would look very nice on the resume for my dream job – the legal on, at least – no one good enough asked me yet. My services were desired enough for people to come to me, not the other way around. So when they realized what a mistake it was to wait so long, I'll be right here, at home, writing, amongst other things, waiting for their eyes to open. Besides, I wasn't really in the mood for work yet. I had plenty of money to keep me going, and if I didn't absolutely have to work, I wouldn't.

My finger hits the period and the chapter is done. I save it and close Word, opening Firefox, and pulling up my top favorite site in the world: fanfiction net. Oh how I loved that site. Since libraries aren't really found around here, the net is where I get my reading, and just so happened to have stories on all my favorite movies and books. You can not only find the best stuff there, but also _write_ that best stuff.

As I do that, the song on my phone changes to one that I am not in the mood for. I tipple-click the remote control thing on my earphones, and it flips back to the previous song, playing in for the eighth time. Maybe it would be easier to just put that song on rewind, but for some reason, I've never done that. I'd rather keep going back, than have it play over and over again on its own. I guess it's because that way I don't have to unlock my iPhone one extra time, and open Music to hear the next song when I _am_ in the mood for it.

As I post the chapter online, I mentally thank Az for introducing me to the movies. I never heard of them until the second movie came out, and Az dragged me along to see it. I didn't understand a thing, because it was the second movies, and it was beyond her comprehension how I didn't know, because apparently _everyone_ knew who the Autobots and Decepticons were. I have to admit that it was a pretty good film; both of them, but I'm sure it would be a lot more interesting if I didn't have to solve a puzzle in my head the entire time I was sitting in the Cinema. I watched the first movie later, but I'm sure I'd like it more if I watched everything in the order that it came.

I put the chapter up, my phone buzzing in notification that I got a new email. I open it, deleting the 'New Chapter' email, clicking the phone off again. I was planning to start posting another story – I already have it in the works – but this one is getting so much attention! It's only been ten chapters, and it already has like five hundred reviews, and over three hundred favorites and followers. I really don't know what happened. I started the story just for fun, and before I knew it, bam; everyone loves it! Maybe it's because the idea is just so simple. It's just this Russian linguist, going to college, when the Decepticons attack – before the second movie, by the way. She get's caught in the crossfire, and taken to base for debriefing and security… stuff. And then N.E.S.T. hires her as an interpreter. And then she starts hanging out with Sideswipe, and the two will, in the future, develop a relationship. It's really cute.

I hum along to Belong by the Cary Brothers, but my humming is cut short when the screeching of a smoke alarm sends me streaking like a little girl. Struggling to get the laptop off me, I race downstairs to the kitchen and snatch a hand-towel, running to the smoke alarm, and wave the towel in front of it until the thing shuts up. I hate smoke alarms. If one goes off, the entire bloke knows you failed at making pancakes. It's like a bright red, blinking light above your head, screaming 'kitchen loser!'

I wave the towel in front of it for a little while longer, and then run back to the kitchen, seeing that I accidentally left the element on from way back during breakfast. I was making scrambled eggs, and evidently, forgot to turn in back off. I roll my eyes, reaching across the stove and turn it off. Thank God that the closest neighbors I have are… well… actually they live next door, but they're never there. Still, no doubt that by now the whole town knows that I was a 'kitchen loser'… mainly because the entire town's population was exactly five hundred and twenty seven. And it wasn't really a town, either. It was just a collection of motels and gas stations and small shops. The owners were the only ones who lived here. Oh and then there are the ones who lived in the motels for several years, liking the solitude and silence of this place.

I lived here because I kicked my mom out over a year back. This isn't even a house. It's her office; we lived in it when I was here, living either her. I packed up all her stuff and booted her out the day after I turned eighteen, sending her on her way, far away from me and my now peaceful life. The first floor is the office; round, with the front half of the single wall glass, complete with the custom glass double-doors. It's full of computers and equipment, half of it she left, half I bought over the time between now and the last time she was here. The first floor is divided in half, the front part, facing the 'town' – I doubt you can even call it that – and the other, with an actual wall, being the oversized, and basically empty dining room. Or at least that how it was when mom lived here.

After she left, I changed the two places. I called in house decorators, and had them rearrange it all down here. Now my office/study/place where I do stuff on the computer that aren't really considered legal, all nice and hidden; and the kitchen is in plain sight, like a diner. It's not like anyone cares, anyway. This place is too small for crime, or perverts or whatever – it's too small to even have a police station, the closest station being two hours worth of driving away, in a much larger town, the population _there_ being about three thousand.

I always lived in small places like this, where the city lights don't disturb the stars, leaving them in plain sight. Mom's obsession with stars was bordering unbearable. She spent all her days staring down the eye of a telescope.

I groan at the memory, rolling my eyes, and put the towel back.

Me? I stay here because I'm just not used to big cities. I came here three years ago, and I can't find it in myself to leave. I always found big cities to be loud and busy, and I've been in them before, and I never want to smell that again. All the exhaustion fumes and garbage… it's absolutely gross. I much prefer the silence and clean air. It might be Hell weather here in the New Mexico desert, and it rains down here like once a year, but you kinda get used to it. Even though I had nothing to lose if I left, I also had nothing to gain. So I'd rather not waste my time packing everything in the large 'house' up, and moving in across the state someplace bigger and louder and more polluted. I wasn't used to big cities, and every time I was in one, I had none-stop headaches.

I shake myself out of my thoughts and jog to my office, which is basically a commuter geek's dream room, full of computers and monitors and wires and blinking lights and information. Oh the wonders of living in a town this size: it doesn't ever show up on a map, or the FBI database, so you can do whatever you like, and no one will find you here.

I smirk knowingly, taking a seat in front of tree computers, turning them on. I check my bank account, finding my share of the money in place, and smile. "And I was so close to not trusting you enough to pay me," I mutter under my breath, "glad I was wrong." That's kind of what you get when you do something illegal: sometimes you do the job and you don't get paid. I wasn't even told what we were steeling. I was in charge of all the digging – information – cameras, and sensors, and I just did it. I made sure no one saw them, and when got went out, I returned everything to default, and got the hell away from the museum; done. I didn't care what they wanted as long as my employer paid me.

Yeah, I think I forgot to mention that I'm wanted not only as a wanted secretary, but also as America's youngest and best hacker. Guilty. And yes, that _is_ one of the reasons I stay in a place so small that no one ever bothers letting the world know about it. It's just a gas station in the middle of the desert, nothing more; no one will ever find me here. Not the FBI, not the CIA, not homeland security, not top secret organization that will never find out I'm reading their files as a bedtime story, because I am untraceable.

I never got into trouble with the authorities, because I always make sure no one ever finds out I'm hacking their system. But id such happens that I ever do get caught – and instantly lose clients, so that will never happen – no one will find me out here. No school, no hospital, no nothing in the middle of the Godforsaken desert.

I love my town.

I check the Whitehouse email, and surf the CIA, and read up on the latest military project for Iraq, an idea popping up. Oh this is _so_ something that Sideswipe would do – at least form what Az told me. I smirk, writing down the prank on a sticky-note: send Iraq a fake bomb with a map of Europe… with Iraq not on it. This would get him into the biggest trouble in the world! Oh and no offence to anyone from Iraq.

Just then, my cell rings. I check the ID, groaning in irritation, before answering. "What do you want form me now?"

"Is that how you great your dad? Looks like there was a change in manners that I didn't know about."

"Spill before I hang up," I say in a bored tone.

"Oh sweaty, I know you're angry, but… can we just talk?" he asks sweetly. "We hadn't seen each other for so long; I just want to hear your voice."

"Oh, and take me to Disney land and buy me a new car to go along with a large house some place in a prestige part of some highly ranked town," I bark, my expression annoyed.

"Actually, I was hoping you can join me. I bought two tickets to the football game, but Jeff backed down last minute. I was hoping you can take his place. We can spend some time together, talk a little, you know."

"No, you know what, take that extra ticket and shove it up your ass. Don't call me and try to sweet-talk me anymore like you have the right. Stop your pointless competition with mom as if either of you are better than the other. You and mom ruined your lives enough, so stay the hell away from mine." With that, I hang up, wanting to cream. I hate it when either of them calls me, trying to give me things and pretend their good parents.

"Great… thanks for ruining a perfectly good day," I huff, tossing my phone on the rather large table and rest my chin on my hands. I think for a little while, trying to decide on how to react to this, and choose that a good run is in order. I head upstairs, changing into my PE outfit, which is a pair of black sweatpants and a matching sports bra with a pink line in the straps and a pair of runners, grab my MP3 player, and leave the house, not even bothering to lock the doors. No one ever bothers to lock the doors around here. It's just too small for crime to go around, because A) it's just too small for any actual criminals – even I don't count, since hacking into places isn't really hurting anyone – and B) there really isn't anything to steel or vandalize or whatever else you can think of.

I leave the house, jogging away from town, which ends just as abruptly as it starts, leaving me at the mercy of the scorching desert. The sun here was never merciful, so it's the best thing ever that even though I don't tan, it's not too easy to get sunburn either. I have to be outsides for several hours before my skin reacts to the sun.

I jog away from civilization, leaving anything living far behind me. Running was always something I loved. I wasn't particularly a fast runner… actually, I was the slowest in my school in grade twelve… but I had a great stamina; I wasn't fast, but I could rum for hours on end, and by the time everyone has run twenty laps for warm-up, and was panting and wheezing, I was passing everyone, gaining up and passing them. Sometimes, the whole class would stop running and just watch me do laps: ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, and so on. My Gym teacher gave me a challenge once, to run a hundred laps, and the whole class was gathered in the middle, counting out loud every lap I ran. When I reached a hundred, the kids and teacher were out of breath just watching me, and my legs were just beginning to get tired.

People said I should join a sports team, so that when all the players are tired, I can chip in with my never-get-tired super powers and help win the game. But sadly, I was always too small for any games other than badminton and water polo. I couldn't even get into soccer, because despite that it was seemingly impossible to make me tired, I ran far too slow, and was far too easy to knock down.

And then there was the part where I changed school two times a year. I never got on sports team and never had friends not because I was a loner but because I never stayed in place long enough to make connection with anyone. I've lived in this town for three years, but even then, I didn't go to the same school. Schools always changed, and people came and went too fast for me to even learn the names – but that happened with anyone I met.

So when I say I dated seven guys so far, please don't call me a slut. I just didn't stay in place long enough for a long-lasting, sophisticated relationship. And yes, I _do_ blame my parents for that.

As for why I'm single now: like I said, town size won't allow it. Married people and old couples live here… and also people who don't want to meet anyone.

I shake my head, clearing it, and focus on the music in my ears, smiling as I realize that song is My Last Breath by Evanescence – one of my top three favorite bands.

I ran for over an hour, not stopping or even slowing down, even though by now, I saw soaked and smelly as expected. Sweat never bothered me. In fact, I liked being sweaty when I was doing something active: it meant that I was actually accomplishing something. If you play a sport and don't get sweaty, it means you're not working hard enough. And I might not be that most hard-working person in the world, but when I did something, I liked to make sure I went through all the way with it, doing the best I could. Being sweaty meant I was actually getting something down.

And also because when I'd come home tired, it'd would be a good kind of tired; the tiredness that came after fair work; it was a tiredness like no other.

Just then, a clap of thunder pulled me to an abrupt stop. I skid to a stop, freezing in place and looking up at the clear sky, not a single cloud in the sky. I take out my earphones, mouth open as another clap of thunder sounds, disturbing the silence that was only seconds ago.

I squeal and jump back as before me, lightning strikes. And again. And again. I stagger back, falling on my butt onto the hot sand, staring up at literally a ball of lightening, flashing and cracking like a storm. The only place I've seen something like this was in a movie. Or to be more precise, it Terminator, when they come back to our time from the future.

The world around me flashes and in an instant, before me appears out of thin air, a truck, sitting in a bowl-ling hole in the ground, the space around the contour smoking. I stare at it oddly, trying to figure out where the hell it came from, before a strange thought comes to mind, followed by recognition. Hey… this truck, wherever the hell it came from, and however the hell it did it… it looked like that big guy from the movie, with the flames and the… the Autobot insignia? What the hell is going on here?

**AN: I tried my best to proof read this before posting, but it's my own work, so if I missed something – which I'm sure I did – please forgive it. I'm working on getting a beta, but if you liked the story enough, and think it has potential, feel free to volunteer; I'd love that.**

**So what do you think? Did I catch you attention? Please tell me that I did! Please leave reviews; about anything, really. Things you liked, things you didn't, things you want to see in this… ANYTHING! If you have any at all questions about the story, character, or even the author herself, ASK!**

**And now I will bid you all good day or night, and I will see you all next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: hey there readers! I'm back! Now, before I start, I'd like to tell you that this kind of a side story I'm working on in my spare time. I have a few other stories I'm currently working on, and this not is on the forefront of my to-do list. Now, I really like where this is going, and I swear I will not abandon you. I'll do my best to update about ever week and a half – more if the muse strikes.**

**HOWEVER, how often I work on this story and how often I update may depend on you. If I get a lot of good reviews, I might update within a couple of days. So basically, it really depends on a lot of things, but I can promise you that you'll be hearing from me semi-often.**

**Now to less depressing news: I'd like to thank **PrimesSPARROW**, **2211Nighthawk**, **Bee4ever**, and **Guest** for your lovely reviews and the liking you took to the story! Thank you all so much.**

**Also, this chapter is write from Optimus' POV, but I decided to push my limits with this one, and wrote it in first person, and personally, I'm happy with the outcome. Now we all know that Prime is supper polite and supper formal, but keep in mind that this is all going on in his processors, so of course, he's going to sound less Prime-y. Still, I would really like to hear what you though, and how I did.**

**P.S. when you see a line-break, it's a POV switch between Optimus and my OC**

**I don't own Transformers; enjoy:**

I very rarely found myself to be speechless. There were few to no circumstances which I have encountered under which I wouldn't have at least an educated guess about something. This was, unfortunately, one of those times. Immediately, I checked my GPS co-ordinates in confusion, looking for where I am… and finding myself to not have moved a single inch. No, that couldn't be right. This can't be the same place, because if it is then… where did the base go?

We were just transferred to a secondary base several months ago, after the primary NEST base on Diego Garcia was discovered. And according to my GPS co-ordinates – given that my internal GPS system was functioning properly – I was still there. Clearly, it was damaged, because around me was nothing but desert; the entire New Mexico base just… vanished. To say I was confused is a huge understatement.

I had too many questions on my processors to even choose which to ask first: what in Primus' name am I doing in a hole in the ground in the middle of the New Mexico desert? Where did the vast base that I, along with my comrades and human allies were staying at, go? And then there was one which was innately brought up to the forefront of my processors as soon as I realized I wasn't here alone: who was this human child, staring at me like a short-circuited Sparkling?

* * *

The girl herself was no less confused then the Prime. A truck had appeared in front of her; it just… _appeared_. As in, _out of nowhere_. One moment she was running, as she does almost every day, and the next, there is a truck – which she recognize a bit too well – appeared out of thin air right in the middle of her well-memorized running route, coming into existence in a time-traveling ball of Terminator. The best she could manage was staring at it, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Where, in the name of all good things on Earth, did this thing come from, she wondered to herself.

Hesitantly, she found her voice. "Ok…" the brown haired girl called out to the desert around her. "If this is some sort of prank, you can come out now!" She looked around slowly for hidden cameras and other possible filming equipment that she would, no doubt, be able to intently recognize and name –because a prank was the only logical explanation her mind could conjure up for a truck that, thanks to Az, she recognize to be the same truck that was used for Optimus in the movies. "Ok, seriously, any time now!" she called out, inching away from the truck.

She waited, for a very long amount of time, not trusting the truck one bit. A part of her scoffed at that, telling her that it was only a truck. But the other part of her said that trucks don't pop out of thin air. Granted, both arguments were correct – which only made deciding more challenging. The longer she waited for something – anything – to happen, the more she assured herself that nothing would. She had expected for the camera-men to come out, revealing a failed prank, but after three songs worth of waiting, she realized that nothing was going to happen.

With that, she decided that the truck was safe to approach and inched her way towards it cautiously, examining it. If Az was here, she thought, she'd be telling her anything and everything about it, the Transformers genus that she was. She let out a heartly chuckle, recalling the enthusiasm with which the older woman dragged her to the movie theater, eager to show the brunet her most anticipated movie of the year.

"Now where the heck did you come from?" she asked, as if the truck could answer her. Carefully, as though not to startle it, she reached a hand to the Autobot insignia on the truck's grill, ghosting a delicate finger over it. "Ok, hilarious; it's a very funny joke. Seriously, how could you end up here?" the girl snapped, annoyed that no one was admitting to this prank.

"It's… really weird. What if I didn't know about Transformers – like a year ago? Then what? You'd go find some poor fangirls to excite and then drop the bomb that they are _so _not going anywhere and their boring ass lives are gonna remain the same as they've always been? That's… that's a new level of low." she muttered to herself, wondering if anyone could hear her.

What kind of jackass do you have to be to do this to someone, she wondered, to pull a prank like this? In her eyes, it was stooping to a whole new level of 'jerk'.

She walked slowly around the truck, brushing her hand along it as she did so, examining it. She wondered if she would ever understand anything about it, farther than "this is a rear-view mirror" and "this is a seat belt" and "this is a door". She truly couldn't hope to understand a thing about mobile machinery. If it had tires, it was far out of her field of expertise. Her knowledge was centered on anything that connected to Wi-Fi – the only good thing she learned from her mother, in her eyes. Of course there were the small things, like cooking and arguing, but nothing meagerly important in life.

* * *

A blind mech could see that the situation confused the girl no less than it did me, but thank to her, it was getting even worse; I was growing more and more confused with every word that left the her mouth. Prank? Transformers? _Fangirl_? What was she talking about? But with the way she looked at my alt. mode and asking me questions was as if she knew exactly what and who she was looking at and talking to. But how was that possible?

It's a given that the Earth's leaders aren't too good at keeping us a secret, and over the last three years lot's of suspicions were both proved and disproved. The odd piece of footage leaked on the internet and not taken down, a photo shown to a friend, little things that led crowds into believing in our existence. Some saw us firsthand, other heard from a coworker or an internet website. Little by little the words "top secret" were becoming nothing but words on a page. And even more so after Egypt. The Egyptian Government was less than pleased that we destroyed one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and it just so happened it belong to them. The United States military didn't hear the end of it for a very long time. The subject still comes up occasionally, even after a year.

But could she really have recognized me?

"But really…" she continued in a weary voice, "a truck appearing from like… the future – at least according to Terminator – smack in the middle of the desert? That's… how did technology evolve enough for a stunt like hat to be pulled? There is nothing here for miles, so don't even give me the 'mirrors' bullshit," she said under her breath, only confusing me further.

Terminator? What was she talking about? Then I remember Bumblebee coming to base once, being particularly upset after Sam had shown him several alien movies the scout first took liking to. He said at first everything was fine, and the movies were interesting. Then he couldn't recharge peacefully for months. I think one of the movies he mentioned was called Terminator; something about machines taking over the world. Ironhide had scoffed at the proposition that Earth technology would have advanced enough, quickly enough, for that to happen and the likelihood of such an occurrence was, though not entirely impossible, but highly unlikely. He was certainly right, but the comment only led Sam and Bumblebee having to explain to him the definition of "Sci-Fi movies".

He never mentioned the unlikelihood of a movie scenario happening in real life ever since. And Will did seem to complain about the sudden increase in DVD's in his house, and the fact that Annabelle was picking up some rather foul language from some of them. It was something about Ironhide having "movie marathons" with her, using his Holoform. And once Sarah found this out, she was… displeased, for the lack of a stronger term. Ironhide and Will both claimed for her to have been more vicious than an enraged Decepticon.

I ran a systems check before opening the come. link.

**::Optimus to Ironhide; come in:: - Optimus**

But no one answered. If I were in my true form, I would have frowned at that. I try it again, the result remaining unchanged. That gave me enough reason to start worrying.

**::Optimus to Ratchet; come in:: - Optimus**

The other end was silent; all the more reason to worry.I tried contacting each one of my Autobot comrades, the outcome remaining the same. Keep calm, Prime; there must be a logical explanation to all of this. But why weren't they answering me? Unless something happens, answering the com. link isn't questionable; if one of us doesn't answer, we must assume something happened and a team is sent out to find them. And since the com. link isn't damaged, I see no reason as to why no one would respond to my calls. Furthermore, why has such a long time passed and none had contacted me yet?

The question raises another, worse question: maybe they couldn't. Maybe they tried, but couldn't reach me. I ran a system check again, confirming that my com. link was alright – although several of my other systems were offlined.

In the mean time, the girl kept talking nonsense, confusing me further. Since she was the only one around, and apparently not going anywhere, I might as well answer her. I highly doubt the child would know anything, but it was more than standing motionless in a hole in the ground until she left or did something rash, like calling the authorities.

I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing all alone all the way out here.

Softly, not to scare the small girl – who hardly stood five feet tall and couldn't be older than twenty years of age – I spoke, trying my best not to startle her – not that it would be an easy, since trucks didn't speak. I gave her the best warning I could, disturbing the silence with a low rumble of my engine rather that speech, causing the chestnut haired girl to jump back with a surprised squeak.

"Ah! What that…?" she chirped out in surprise, stumbling back a step.

Here we go again. "Please, child, do not fear; I mean you not harm," I assure her.

She froze eyeing me – or rather, my alt. mode – carefully for a long while, in shock. Then, a crazy grin broke out on her face. "Ok, yeah, very funny. It's _hilarious_!" she snapped, her voice dripping in sarcasm – at me, or someone else, I could not tell anymore. But since she was speaking to no one in particular before, I could only assume she was trying to make a conclusion about the situation that I couldn't hope to understand without an explanation.

"Seriously you freaks, don't you have nothing better to do that to go around harassing people?!" she shouted, turning around to look around her, as if looking for someone or something. "What are you… you guys are really freaking messed up; this is by far the sickest joke anyone has played on anyone." she scolds the air. What exactly was she trying to accomplish with this?

"I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about, but no one is trying to trick you," I try to assure her, freezing her in place. She squints, her face looking angry.

"Watermelons."

This takes me by surprise and I take a moment to understand what she'd just said. Did just say… watermelons? What does a fruit, a melon to be precise, have to do with anything?

"I beg your pardon?" I ask her.

"What's the date of the assassination of President Kennedy?" she demands.

"November 22nd, 1963," I answer, looking for the answer on the internet. "I'm sorry, I… I do not understand what you mean." What was the point of this?

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Five. Child, you confuse me. Why are you asking this?"

"Wrong, it's four – thumbs don't count."

In all my life, I don't think I've ever heard anything more absurd. "_What_?"

"Index finger, middle finger, wedding finger, and pinky finger," she says, wiggling each finger as she named it. "But a thumb is just a thumb; it doesn't have the word finger before it, thus it doesn't count as a finger – at least by Az's philosophy of life."

"Why are you asking me all this?" I ask the girl, understanding less and less with every word she speaks.

"I'm trying to see if you are a voice recording. Clearly you aren't, so now I need to see who's screwing with whose voice, because you sound almost like Peter Cullen. The voice is kind of different. I can't quite put my finger on it yet; it's also really deep, but at the same time, there is just something different and… I don't know. It's just different, that's it." the girl explains.

"What are you talking about? Who is this Peter Cullen?" I ask her.

"Ha-ha-ha, it's very funny," she spits sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest. "Ok, now that we had a good laugh, why doesn't anyone call this off because I have more important things to do that to pretend to go Fangirl over a very accurately painted truck that apparently can speak and sounds just like Optimus Prime?!" she yells in frustration.

It catches my attention more than ever when she says my full name. "How do you know this?" I ask – no, _demand_ – of her. Surely the Government couldn't have been keeping us a secret so poorly that a human child knows my name.

"Oh yeah, so now the whole world knows that I didn't know about Transformers until the second movie came out like a year ago. It's very _amusing_," she snaps at me in anger and frustration.

This wasn't working, there was no denying that. But at least the girl hadn't run away like some of the new recruits who were brought to meet us at the NEST base. Although, I thought, it would be a lot easier to understand her if she'd done that. Before I could stop myself from doing such a foolish – no, stupid – thing, my alt. mode began to shift, changing me into my true self. As I unwillingly took on my Cybertronian form, the girl stared up at me in utter shock, a scream rising in her throat. Cursing myself internally for transforming in front of the human child, I opened his mouth to get out an apology and a reassurance of that she is safe.

Before I could utter a sound, she hit the sand, unconscious.

**AN: so? Did I do well? Did I? DID I? So how do you like it? Please leave your thoughts in the review section below to let me know what you think. Also, the cover picture for this is what my OC looks like.**

**Question of the day: if you could be any transformer, who would you be, and why?**

**Have a great day/night. See you!**


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